After
by sistem
Summary: We win moments but lose lifetimes. Post-war. Azula.


**After**

A/N: I do not own Avatar or any recognizable characters, that honor belongs Mike and Bryan.

Also! First A:TLA fic, so, should you find any mistakes/goofs/general shenanigans, please let me know, I would really appreciate it!

* * *

There is a princess, locked in a tower high from the ground with only a slim window to see the world. It was placed far from the city, brushing the edges of the forest beyond it. Imprisoned in the tower, she is forced to endure solitude save for the white faced guards that pushes trays of food three times a day between the bars of her cell.

She sighs mournful sighs to the moon, praying for release to the heavens. She would sit on the wrought iron bench placed under the window and look out to the changing world. Her heart broke every time a bird sang, reminding her of her friends and family, of her old life, when she could run free in the meadows. Her tears are illuminated by the light of the moon when she could muster the energy-

No it wasn't. And she didn't. And never would and never will.

Because she's not that kind of princess and this isn't that kind of tower and she isn't locked up for that kind of reason.

Azula was placed in the highest turret of the old keep, especially fitted for her (or so she hears) since she has seen every dungeon and prison the Fire Nation had to offer and even Zuzu knew better than to put her in a place where she knew every possible escape route.

She can appreciate the thought that went into her prison, nothing but the cot is flammable. She shot out a fire ball into the forest once, hoping to start a fire, but it was quickly put out and the soldiers that used to be under her thumb told her that Fire Lord Zuko would appreciate it if she didn't burn the Wulong Forest. She rages for three days after that, spitting fire at the walls and pounding the door with flame covered fists.

She doesn't know who else is being kept in the prison, but she doubts that she is the only one there. Her father is still alive, that much she knows. Not that that matters. As she understands, the Avatar stripped him of his bending abilities, reducing him to nothing more than a man with an impressive haircut.

Also, her hair is starting to even out.

There's that.

Also, she gets visitors from time to time. Not all of them are alive.

There's also that.

* * *

The water bender is her first guest.

She only remembers bits and pieces of it. Cool pressure on her wrists where the chains rubbed her skin raw during her transport from the Palace to the Wulong Forest, warm hands gently wiping sweat from her brow as she thrashed, limbs forced to face up by chains, still feverish from her previous state of insanity. She is lucid for moments though and she would taunt the little water bender:

"So sad that your mother had to die. You must understand, it was for the Fire Nation's future."

"The Fire Nation took away your mother too."

"I don't have a mother."

"That's hardly an appropriate thing to say, Azula."

Her mother is her second guest.

* * *

Fire Lady Ursa is dead.

She has been since she disappeared the year Azula turned ten, leaving her and Zuzu and Father and the throne and Azula has always been fine with those arrangements.

However, now that the throne is out of her reach and Father locked up proper, Ursa has been inconveniently showing up places she really has no business being in.

Her coronation, for one.

Her sight, a second.

And she is there with soothing words of a mother who loves her daughter, of a mother who isn't utterly terrified of the creature, the monster, her daughter is.

"I've always loved you. Always. You may think what you will, but nothing will change that."

Azula laughs. Her mother, her sweet, sweet, ignorant mother, never telling her the truth. And people say _she_ lies, _I suppose I had to get it from somewhere. Isn't that right, Mother?_

She is Ozai's daughter. Strong and resilient, _powerful_. They are better, above people like Zuko and Iroh and that damned waterbender, with their empathy and complete and utter _weakness_. Her and Ozai shared that same disgust. And if there is one thing that Ozai taught her, it wa-

Her cheek stings in the form of a palm.

"You were my daughter first, Azula. I held you first and I looked at you first and. Your father-"

She breathes in deep.

"You are my daughter, too."

Anger.

It's all she's known and it's all she feels, so when something clenches inside her, she does not know what to do other than lash out.

_Stop it. Stop IT. _

"STOP IT."

She tries to generate lightning but all that comes out are sparks, dancing on her fingertips.

"Go away."

She screams inhuman screams, like an animal, wounded on the forest floor with out its mother to tend to it.

She wails and she screams until her throat feels like sand and her eyes are blurry and she looses control over her breath, _Like some novice_. _You're a damn Master!_

She wills the hallucination away, away, away.

She wakes up later and the moon is high and her lashes are damp.

Her cheek feels tender.

* * *

The water peasant boy checks on her restraints and the door to her cell.

"Sir, there are safer ways to keep her restrained and weak. Now, I've spoken to several engineers and they seem to keep mentioning a prison, in all ironies, created by the Fire Nation, that had rooms specifically designed for firebenders. The design is archaic, but it is in its simplicity that holds the complete ingenuity of the cell; coolers, they called it, sir. It was an icebox! It's so simpl-"

"The Boiling Rock was a barbaric display of power Engineer Chen. We will not be stooping so low as to deprive a firebender of heat. Have you ever seen a waterbender dehydrated? Or an earthbender locked in a metal box?

"We won't stoop that low. Because we're better than that, better than her."

The peasant boy looks at her with caution and distrust, as if she wasn't still sedated with enough drugs to knock out a platypus bear and shackled like some wild ostrich horse.

Through half lidded eyes, she blows out a small stream of fire through grinning teeth.

The engineer pales and starts moving closer to the door while Sokka's shoulders tenses at the provocation.

He squats down to her eye level, "You're _nothing_ now."

He stands abruptly and starts walking to the door, scrolls clenched between his hands and arms, a frightened engineer following him out.

Azula laughs at his back, "Darling, you were _never_ anything."

The door shuts. He does not return.

* * *

When Zuko comes to visit her, it is without a crown or back up.

He says nothing and she replies nothing.

He doesn't sit down, he just stands next to door, not because he feared her (_he should_) and needed the reassurance of a quick exit, no, the space next to the door seems to be the only place he fits. He stands there, stoic, his arms hidden within the sleeves of his robes, regal.

She laughs a little, her chin on her palm while she sits and watches him from the iron bench near the window, her elbow resting on its arm, "Oh, Zuzu. You're doing it wrong you know."

He seems shaken out of his daze and his eyes focus on her.

She waves her hand at the length of him, "Flaunting your victory. Being superior. I mean, Agni, I knew you were bad at everything but I didn't know you'd be bad at winning too."

She lets out a mock gasp, "Or is it because you're just _so_ used to losing you don't even know what to do!"

He stays motionless and it almost infuriates her.

"I'm not here to- I'm not here for that."

"Ah, so he speaks! Then tell me dear brother, oh mighty Fire Lord, the Avatar's master, and my god, you have no idea how hard I laughed when I received that particular piece of information-"

"I'm here to apologize."

She laughs loudly, her head thrown back.

"Oh, Zuzu. Are you really this incompetent at everything? That you don't even know how to win? And really now, you beat me once and suddenly your some Master, so full of wisdom and insight. Tell me, did you read this from the tea leaves Uncle set out?"

"For not protecting you."

Her breath catches in her throat, "I don't, I _never_ needed your, or _anybody_ else's, protection, Zuzu."

"For not being a better older brother. For not protecting you from father."

He take a breath, "I'm sorry."

She's too amazed or surprised or confused to say anything, so she says nothing. She looks him in the eye and in her mind, she is formulating every reason why he's so wrong, why he's still the idiot brother she knew he was, but then he straightens his shoulders even more and leaves quietly.

He comes back, though. He visits regularly, saying nothing.

* * *

Fire Lord Azulon visits her.

He comes at the peak of noon, his image dancing in the heat, and it's as if Azula was back in the capital, standing in front a wall of fire in the throne room.

It's as exactly as she remembers it.

The fire separating the Fire Lord and everybody else sways and does not flicker, only allowing her to see her grandfather's silhouette. He sits on the throne, the very symbol of the Fire Nation.

It's as exactly as she remembers it.

And yet….

The dull roar of fire is missing and the hall seems inexplicably larger. Armor does not sit on her shoulders and she is alone in a peasant's garb, kneeling in front of the Fire Lord.

She bows low then, her forehead touching cool, cool marble, her eyes staring back at her on the floor.

"Forgive me, Fire Lord Azulon."

She receives no reply but she carries on.

"Forgive me for I have failed you, the Fire Nation. My traitorous brother defeated me in battle and usurped the throne from me."

Her neck starts to ache along with her back.

"I have failed to continue your efforts and I have failed to further expand our Nation, our power. The Earth Kingdom still stands and as do the Water barbarians and the Fire Nation's grasp on the world is starting to slip. For these transgressions, I offer my apologies."

She is tempted to lift her head and look into the fire but understands better so she sneaks a peak from underneath her lashes. Her grandfather sits tall, still, looking down on her like a judge; silent and solemn.

She brings her eyes down again and stares at her reflection of the marble floor. She takes a deep breath.

"Pl-please. I beg for your forgiveness. Fire Lord, grandfather, _please_."

Her shoulders and her arms start shaking from her prolonged position but she stays as she is.

No reply comes.

She sits up then, on her knees and sitting seiza, her palms pressed hard on her thighs. She dares not look up into the fire so she continues to stare at her own reflection.

"I require- I ask for mercy your majesty. I ask- I ask that you free from my sins against the Fire Nation. I- I beg of you grandfather. Take the weight from my shoulders."

"Absolution can be earned through simple methods, but you must first ask for forgiveness for the right things, my niece."

General Iroh is her sixth guest.

* * *

That's a lie, though.

Iroh visits her every time her meals are delivered to her. Tea is always served with her food, masterfully blended. She doubts other prisoners are given anything but leaves in hot water and yet here she was, served jasmine tea every meal.

She makes the mistake of drinking it the first meal. She has refused to touch it ever since, a petty, silent rebellion against _everything_. The thought of Iroh lights up the anger in her, it makes her want to punch things, punch _him_. He was the Dragon of the West, the epitome of a Fire Nation son and he threw it all away.

There were few things that Azula took pride in that didn't concern herself and, once upon a time, it included her uncle.

(She remembers the surge of warmth she felt when news started spreading that General Iroh, the Dragon of the West, breached the Outer Walls of Ba Sing Se.

_It means _impenetrable_, Mai. What did any of your uncles ever achieve?_

She remembers the feeling almost as much as she remembers the feeling of complete and utter disappointment when news started spreading that General Iroh, the Dragon of the West, retreated over the death of a soldier.

_Of course, it's clear that he's not strong enough to lead a nation. Why, it's only right that Father be handed the crown, don't you agree, Mai?)_

Before aspirations of the throne, but after goals of Master Firebenders, Azula looked at her uncle with reverence in a way that she could not look at her father. Her father, in all his own glory, did not hold the mythical status that her uncle did. Her uncle, the war hero, the slayer of dragons, the court's son, the _heir_, held a small part of Azula's fascination until he went and ruined it.

_He turned his back to the Fire Nation, he turned his back to the throne, to his family…_

"My dear, I never meant to turn my back on you."

He sits there in front of her on the bench in front of the slim window, careful not to block the sliver of sunlight streaming in. He holds a cup of tea, steam rising lazily. He came after she stopped eating for the second time, this time not as an act of rebellion, but simply because she has lost her appetite.

He sighs and the steam in his cup gets heavier, the liquid in it, hotter.

"I had been gone for so long, I've been fighting in the war for longer than you have been alive, even now. All the letters from my brother and your mother told of a strong princess, a resilient little girl who could do the most amazing things."

He laughs a little, reminiscing of less complicated times, when the ground under him was stable and solid.

"I never though it strange that your father never seemed to mention Zuko. I merely assumed he was in the same condition as you, that you and he were fine.

"Imagine my shock when I come home and find that you've grown up so much, far too much, if I may say."

He sighs again and Azula continues to stare blankly ahead.

"You never needed guidance, I suppose is what I'm trying to say. You've always had your father, well, you only had your father and I suppose that was part of the problem.

"Ursa and I were too occupied with Zuko and I suppose having my brother as your only source of guidance was, in foresight, not a very good thing."

She says nothing.

His shoulders falter then straighten again. He places his cup on the ground, between his feet and slips his hands into his sleeves. He continues to look straight at her and if Azula was a lesser person, she supposes that this would be the time that she cracked under the pressure of his gaze, the time when she dam brakes and her guilt, or _whatever_, burst out.

She scoffs.

The corner of Iroh's mouth twitches upwards.

"We are more alike than you might want to consider," he says lightly.

She scoffs again, this time her brow rises incredulously.

He smiles widely but it does not hold the same joy it usually does.

"More so than your father, perhaps."

At this, she looses all expression, back to blank.

"Ah, my dear niece, you and I were groomed for the throne. We were prodigies on our own rights, who do you think taught your father how to generate lightining?

"We have sent men to their deaths for our nation and committed actions far too atrocious, too despicable, to even speak of, all for our loyalty to Agni and his kingdom. We have suffered for it and it has taken so many things from us."

He stands then, his arms still hidden by his sleeves. He stands by the window, careful not to block the light.

"You seek absolution, but you must first face your crimes. You must see the destruction you have caused, the pain. Until then, this pain and anger will not leave you. It will grow heavier and heavier and you will find that, as you grow older, it will be much too heavy to burden."

He turns to look at her, his shoulders low and his eyes tired, "We are all too much alike."

He turns back to look out of the window.

Azula inches forward from her bed, her feet stretching out from its bent position.

"We."

Her foot catches the edge of the teacup as Iroh starts to turn back to look at her.

She kicks it flying into his arm, soaking his sleeve, "Are nothing alike, _Uncle_."

The teacup falls to the ground and breaks into pieces.

"You! _You_ threw it all away! I _fought_ for it. I didn't succumb to weakness and emotions!"

She stands, her finger points at him accusingly and he looks at her, his face calm and his hands hidden inside his dampen sleeves.

"I was beaten, by my pathetic brother, but at least I fought! I didn't just give up, like some, some quitter!"

She barks out a laugh, "And you speak like I've done some terrible deed for fighting for my country. Why, I was just following in your footsteps, Uncle, your examples. How can you even call yourself to be one of Sozin's line? To be a citizen of the Fire Nation? To follow Agni? When you simply gave up?"

She shakes her finger at him, either from anger or the strain of keeping it up for so long, neither knows.

"How can you live with yourself?"

He takes her arms and sets it by her side. He smoothest down her sleeves, like a parent, appraising his child, and sets his hands on her shoulders.

He does not look at her eyes, instead focusing on her forehead. He kisses it gently, "One day at a time."

He leaves then, knowing that he was pushing her too far. She stands in the same spot until the sun goes down, her forehead tingling. Her fists clench and unclench periodically.

* * *

He returns three weeks later with a new batch of tea leaves, exclaiming about his new discovery and how if you mixed the right amount of jasmine with the right amount of oolong, one achieves the most fleetingly sweet aftertaste! and isn't that just fascinating?

He mentions nothing about the war, or absolution, or comparisons, or her father, or anything interesting to her. He merely talks and talks and talks.

This is no longer the man she knew before the Siege of Ba Sing Se. That man died on the Outer Wall, along with his son.

She is no longer angered by this fact, she swallows it and breathes out and in, and out.

She feels numb. Like somebody snuffed out the fire inside her.

Here's the thing:

She will never ask for forgiveness and she will never apologize. She knows what has to be done to get back to even a semblance of normal. But she is stubborn and she scared and she is unwilling, because knowing the road ahead does not make it any less frightening or any less arduous.

But she's a goddamn princess and if she has to carve out a new road to travel, then so be it.


End file.
